


Second Taste

by xanzpet (gleefulmusings)



Series: Facets [10]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Comics Disregarded, F/M, Mild Language, Post-Chosen, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleefulmusings/pseuds/xanzpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the simple things that make Faith happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Taste

Faith had tried many things in her life, but this was a first.  
  
How the fuck did bitches do this shit day in and day out, anyway?

Fuck cooking!

First of all, it was _boring_. You had to gather all your shit and measure junk and chop things and dig around cupboards for supplies. How the hell was she supposed to know the strainer was called a colander? What a stupid name! Who came up with this shit? All this prep time and for what? Where was the payoff? It was like the worst foreplay ever!  
  
Pasta was supposed to be easy. You boil the water, drop in the noodles, hang for ten or so, throw one at the wall, and you were done. Why did she need to salt the water? _Fluff_ with a _fork_? The _hell_?  
  
She threw the cookbook at the wall. The Barefoot Contessa could just kiss her leather-clad ass!  
  
This is what she got for trying to do something nice.

Good ol’ reliable One Eye had built her a special case for her weapons with a nifty lock and hidden drawers and shit, so she thought she’d make him something to eat, since the dude still shoveled food in his mouth like he was starving and was waiting to be adopted by Angelina Jolie.

Spaghetti had seemed a good idea. She had even gone the extra mile by deciding to forgo the Chef Boyardee.  
  
But no.  
  
It was all fucked up and, therefore, all Xander’s fault.

She sighed in exasperation, grabbed the pot filled with blackened noodles - how was she supposed to know you were to turn the burner off before you tossed the drained pasta back into the pot? - and headed over to the trash.

And that’s when she saw it.  
  
Xander had taken out her trash for her. _Without_ being asked.  
  
But it got _better_.  
  
He had put a new bag in the can.  
  
Suddenly she heard angels singing and, after ten years of ‘dating’, Faith had a revelation: _anybody_ could fuck; _this_ guy had put a _bag_ in the _garbage can!_  
  
A slow smile spread across her face.

She had grown up, and so had Xander. Quite nicely, as a matter of fact. And, sure, his ears still stuck out a little, and he still babbled on occasion, but the patch was sexy, and she had heard Dawn whisper to the newbie Slayers that, according to the late, great uber-bitch Anya, the guy was supposedly a Viking in the sack. Faith wasn’t too sure about that herself, given their first ride, but now she wondered what new tricks Anya might have taught the old dog.  
  
And Xander was a nice guy. Really decent. Treated her with respect, even though she still had a little trouble believing she deserved it. Built shit for people, kept an eye on Dawn, still helped with the patrols and research. He was a lot quieter now, not as easy to read, and Faith promptly decided she liked the new air of mystery she hadn’t taken the time to notice. Wondered what he thought about; specifically, what he thought about her.  
  
Maybe it was time to find out.  
  
A fucking bag in the can!  
  
She heard the door open and smirked, pulling her tank over her head.  
  
“Hey!” Xander called out, “What say we call an end to this injustice against Italian cuisine and swing by Panda Express?” He then stumbled into the kitchen and stared blankly.  
  
“Why bother? Dinner’s served, boytoy.”


End file.
